American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Passage · Poetry

Dean Young

I’ll never forget when I touched your breast
you sighed a name proximate my own.
I wasn’t a tree or a cloud or a crow.
We both had someplace else to go, leaning
over other railings, letting the sea have the letter.

—Dean Young, from “You,” Primitive Mentor (University of Pittsburg Press, 2008)

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